“Now, my dear,” she said, after a pause, “since you are quite ready, and there is still a little time left, you had better run back to the stage and just hum over your songs to yourself. In that way you will be getting accustomed to the place.”
Seven o’clock came, and with it the opening of the doors. Then the audience began to assemble at first in small groups afterwards in larger parties, till by and by every available seat was taken. Among them came M’lle Fanchette, the aristocratic modiste, Helen’s fellow-lodger. She wore a superb bonnet of white satin, above which fluttered a feather of stately and imposing elevation, making her a very magnificent personage in her own opinion. She was in unusually good spirits, having secured the escort and attendance of the young clerk, whose youth she regarded as a compliment to her own juvenility, to which she still clung tenaciously. She had in her hand a large opera-glass, which she used with a freedom which made her more conspicuous than her companion desired.
The theatre was crowded—chiefly in consequence of the new play and the new actor. Soon the orchestra commenced playing, and a few minutes later the curtain rose.
The play, in some measure, disappointed the expectations of the audience. The star was but poorly supported by the stock company, who had been compelled to get up their parts at short notice. It was, perhaps, the consciousness of this poor support that made the leading actor’s personation less striking and effective than usual. The audience remained cold, and seldom indulged in applause. It seemed desirable, therefore, that the remaining parts of the performance should go off well.
Helen had watched the progress of the play from one of the wings. Her unpractised eyes could not detect deficiencies, and she became so absorbed as to forget for the time being that she herself was soon to take part. As the curtain fell, the manager walked hastily forward to the place where she stood.
“Miss Ford,” he said, “you will be called immediately. We shall expect you to do your best. Above all, don’t allow yourself to be frightened. Think as little as possible of the audience, and you will do well enough.”
Until this moment Helen had not thought of the possibility of failure. Now the conviction dawned upon her in all its force, that she was about to sing before two thousand people—she who had always lived in such perfect quiet and tranquillity. Her heart began to flutter like an imprisoned bird, and her color went and came. For a moment she felt that she would gladly be back in her humble room by her father’s side. At this trying moment she felt a gentle touch upon her arm. Turning quickly, her eyes rested on the kind face of Mrs. Girdle.
“Oh, Mrs. Girdle,” she whispered, in a tremulous tone. “I am so frightened. I don’t dare to go on.”
“Keep up your courage, Helen,” said her friend, gently pressing her hand. “I can understand your feelings, for I have passed through a similar ordeal. It is a trial, but one through which you will pass triumphantly. You have only to fancy that you are singing in your own room at home. Make a resolute effort, and you will succeed.”
“I will try,” said Helen, more composed.